She was released from the Capitol two days later. They were letting her go home until the 72nd Hunger Games. That meant she could go home to her empty house, and relive the memory of finding her dead family over and over again.

Her departure was swift, but she still made sure to say goodbye to Finnick. She stopped at his hotel room on her way out and lightly rapped on the door. He answered within a few seconds, a towel around his waist. She kept her gaze even, however, never letting her eyes wander from his own. She had decided that if they were going to be anything, they were going to be friends. It was the smartest way to go about things, and it would leave things less complicated in the long run. No jealousy, no longing, no pain.

"I wasn't expecting you. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Sounding smug as ever.

"I'm leaving the Capitol. I'm going home."

He frowned. "What?"

"Snow has released me of any prior engagements for the time being. I'm not sure why. I'm going back to Seven until the next Games."

"Sounds too good to be true, Johanna." There was caution in his stare.

"There's nothing 'good' about it. The only happy memories I have there are now destroyed by the worst memory of all. The one thing I can take from this is my body." That was true. No one would be touching her or forcing her to go on dates with them, at least for a time.

"I guess that's something we can both be grateful for, but I still don't trust him."

"Of course I don't trust him, don't take me for a fool. Give me a little bit of credit," she snapped. "But if I have a chance to get out of this hell hole, I'm going to take it. I just wanted to say goodbye before I did. So, bye."

He went to embrace her, and she allowed it. That's what friends do, right? Hug? She felt electricity shooting through her entire body, but willed it away. This man was her friend, that was it. She abruptly ended the exchange by leaning out of his arms, and he released her. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too, bud." There was a small smile spreading across her face. He had one too.

"Bud," he repeated sadly, walking backwards into his room and shutting the door.

She got on the train a half an hour later and was home by nightfall. She trudged through the snow that had developed at some point while she had been away and made it to her house. Opening the front door, a stream of emotion engulfed her. It was not unknown, she had felt this sadness before, and she had given into it. Many times in fact, had she felt this dread and fell to the ground in tears. But not this time. She had sworn off that display of emotion and she had meant it. She continued through the doorway and made it to her room, took a deep breath, and began to unpack.

"They are here too, you know." The girl from Eight was whispering.

"I figured as much. Why do you keep following me?"

"You need me."

"I do not. And even if I did, I killed you. Why would you care?" She was loading her clothes back into her dresser.

"You didn't kill me. They did." She knew what the girl meant when she said they. The Capitol. Snow. They killed her by forcing her into that arena, but Johanna still felt a pain of guilt every time she remembered lobbing the girl's head off with her axe. She winced as she remembered it now.

"I killed you, and now I've paid the price in full. With my family's lives. Now go away, I don't want to be haunted any longer." There was no response. Her request had been accepted.

Johanna went to sleep that night and found herself in a restless dream within minutes. She was on a stairway, making her way up to a large room at the top. Once there, she opened the door that enclosed it and screamed in terror. There they were, heads. Three heads, actually.

On the left was Plutarch's. It was sitting on a table against the wall, blood dripping from his mouth.

In the middle was Haymitch, on an identical table, in an identical position. But his eyes were closed as well as his mouth.

And there, on the right, on the last table… Finnick.

His hair was disheveled and bloody, his usually strong jaw was weak and taut, and his eyes were staring back at her, blank and lifeless. She screamed again and fell to her knees. She was having trouble breathing, and her air was coming out in hushed sobs, but true to her promise, there were no tears.

She shot up in bed, face pale, covered in sweat. Surely that had been a glimpse into the future. They would be discovered in their plot, and they would be executed. She made it to her bathroom in time to make it to the toilet before throwing up her entire dinner.

Once her stomach was completely empty, she leaned back on her heels and sighed. There would be no dissuading her comrades, they were intent in their plan. If she went to them and told them of her dream, they would laugh in her face and call her a silly little girl. That meant that she had to make a decision, and the decision would be for herself alone.

To stay, and risk it all. Or to make a swift exit from their little group and be done with it, going about her business whoring it up in the Capitol for the rest of her days. The answer was obvious.

She would die before she would give in to Snow willingly. She was still in.

Over the next couple months, she spent all of her time with Ina. Cooking, cleaning, helping out throughout the District; and at night she would go home and have conversations with her dead friend. It was all becoming familiar and comfortable when one day she woke up and realized it was Reaping Day.

She put on a white dress with sleeves that ran down the length of her arms, walked to Ina's house and then Blights, and continued to the square with the pair. Her hair was done in a braid to the side, running along her body almost all the way to her hip. Her makeup was dark and smoky, representing her mood. These poor children.

She made her way up onto the stage and took a seat between her old mentors. Hermila, the woman who would draw the names and escort the Tributes through the Capitol for the following months, exited the main doors of the Governor's Mansion and clambered forward to the microphone. "Welcome, welcome! To the Reaping for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games. May these games once more remind us of the power of the great Capitol of Panem, and of what happened during the great Uprising. I will be drawing the name for our young lady first, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" Johanna scoffed. It was disgusting.

Hermila strutted over to the bowl on her left side and stuck her hand inside. After teasing the crowd for a moment, her hand hovering over the contents, she found a piece of paper and pulled it out. She returned to the microphone, opened the paper, and read the name. "Lelya Green!" A girl about fifteen years old slowly found her way out of the crowd. She was blonde and short, but her figure was proof that she was older than her height portrayed her to be. She edged her way up the stairs and made her way next to Hermila. The crowd was silent, but Hermila was smiling so big Johanna thought her head might explode from the pressure. If only.

"Now for the boys!" She walked towards the other bowl, found a piece of paper, and came to the microphone, reading the name clearly so as not to be mistaken. "Jeremiah Ingham!" A broad, strong young man edged his way out of the crowd and climbed up the stairs. He had short, dark hair, a strong jaw, and dark green eyes. He had to have been about eighteen. Poor kid, almost makes it out, only to be pulled back in at the last minute. He and Lelya stood on either side of Hermila as she took their hands and raised them high in the air, "Ladies and Gentlemen, your District Seven Tributes for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games!" The crowd was slow to respond, but eventually they were cheering. The trio made their way into the building, and Johanna followed with Blight and Ina. Within forty-eight hours they would be back in the Capitol, and she would be training these children how to kill.